


Talking to the Plants

by orchidlocked



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Year Slow Burn, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Nervous Crowley, Orchids, Other, Pining Crowley, Plant Loving Crowley, Tooth Rotting Fluff, lots of plants, soft Crowley, will maybe add more tags later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-07 23:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19095055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchidlocked/pseuds/orchidlocked
Summary: Soft Crowley thinking about his Angel Aziraphale in the wake of the Apocalypse that wasn’t, while talking to his plants.“I told myself if it was all still here by now, I’d do it,” Crowley said to a quaking fiddleleaf fig.“And now, well... it’s now,” he said as he knelt and flicked the tips of a timid Sansevieria, “and that means I’m gonna have to talk to him, and I’m gonna have to tell him.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic ever, take (some) pity on me. not beta’d. 
> 
> all fluff, but made it “teen” rating for some errant f-bombs

Talking to the Plants

 

Crowley was walking down the hallway with his trusty green plastic spray bottle when his phone began to chime from the other room. Not the usual ringtone, as it wasn’t an incoming call. This was a calendar alert he’d popped into his phone shortly after he’d watched the eleven year old Antichrist stare down the end of the world, call the ultimate Lord of Darkness (Satan himself!) a deadbeat dad, and send him back to Hell in a spectacular pile of black dust and cracked concrete. What a ride. He walked back to the counter, grabbed his phone, and switched off the alert before it annoyed him further. 

It had now been three weeks, six days, and one hour exactly since Crowley had the presence of mind to set an alarm for the future to remind him of the events that occurred after the Apocalypse had been thwarted on the runway of the airbase in Tadfield. Three weeks, six days, one hour, and one minute since Crowley had looked upon his recently re-embodied best friend, the angel Aziraphale, and realized how utterly fucking lucky he was that it hadn’t all gone completely tits up. Then - then! - there had been that whole nasty business with the kidnapping, and the trial in Hell, and the subsequent attempts by both angelic and demonic leadership to destroy all traces of both himself and Aziraphale from every plane of existence. Crowley never thought he’d say it, but thank fuck for the fact that he was on Earth, in his flat, with his plants, watching the news, and occasionally glancing out the window to check on the Bentley. 

Speaking of the plants, Crowley shimmied his way into the plant room, beginning his weekly process of inspecting each plant for torn leaves, holes, leaf burn, and general signs of poor growth. The plants began their weekly process of trembling in terror. 

“I told myself if it was all still here by now, I’d do it,” Crowley said to a quaking fiddleleaf fig. 

“And now, well... it’s now,” he said as he knelt and flicked the tips of a timid Sansevieria, “and that means I’m gonna have to talk to him, and I’m gonna have to tell him.” 

“Fuck!” Crowley threw back his head and growled towards the skylight. 

“I asked him to come home with me that night,” he said to the golden pothos vining aimlessly around a window. “And he didn’t! I know he thinks I’m always moving too fast,” Crowley reached out and lifted the longest vine up with his thin fingers. The plant began to vibrate in fear. “Oh, come on,” he scoffed. “Can’t you see I’ve gone all fucking soft! It’s his fault.” Crowley conjured a small golden hook and placed it onto the wall. He took the vine and threaded it over the hook to train the plant upwards. The pothos stilled its vibrations and turned its leaves towards Crowley, a long line of what appeared to be tiny ears directed his way. 

“I can’t stop thinking about him. Well, that’s not exactly new but,” - Crowley murmured to an African violet that was currently fearing for its life in the far windowsill - “He’s got to know though, right? I mean, for fuck’s sake.” He spit the words out and the violet leaned back ever so slightly. Crowley pursed his lips together and turned his attention to a rather large Monstera. 

“Darkness knows, it’s not like I haven’t been dropping hints for a couple of thousand years,” Crowley grumbled to the Monstera as he ruffled through the leaves. “Hmm. That one’s not bad.” Crowley gently touched a particularly beautiful leaf with the perfect balance of holes in it. To his surprise, the Monstera remained still. “You’ve been doing all right here,” he said softly into the leaf. Crowley stood up, and the Monstera quickly exhaled the breath it had been holding. It let all its leaves droop over for a moment, and then it decided to draw itself back up to full attention. Just in case. 

“Hmm. Not a lot of holes or damage in here since the whole apocalypse... thing...” he trailed off, flipping up a couple leaves on a rubber plant to inspect the undersides. “Right. Well, uh, I guess I should say... good job everybody,” Crowley drawled, twirling a green plastic mister around his fingers like a pistol in a spaghetti western. “Pew pew,” he made the sounds while aiming a stream of water onto the upper leaves of the taller Scheffleras and Dracaenas. “Just, keep it up then, alright? Or you know what’ll happen.” Crowley went to grab the empty plastic pot to threaten the plants, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He let out a heavy sigh and plodded back towards the kitchen. “Just not as fun as it used to be,” he complained to no one. 

Since the madness of the apocalypse that wasn’t (much more stressful than he’d imagined), his time spent inhabiting Aziraphale’s body (delightful, was he ever going to have to tell him about that night in the shower?), and the realization that he’d have some more time to finally drum up the courage to talk to him (quite deflating, realizing he’d been such a coward for the past 6000 years), his mind was simply elsewhere. 

He unscrewed the sprayer top from the green water bottle and began refilling it. Only a few more plants to talk to. Talk to?! Why was he talking to the plants like this? Fuck. It was true. He’d gone soft. “I guess that’s what happens when you fall for an angel,” he sarcastically quipped while screwing the sprayer back onto the water bottle. Hanging from a bracket against the kitchen window was his favorite plant. Crowley shuddered and made an exaggerated “blech” noise. “What’s become of me? Sitting in this flat, talking to the plants, picking favorites...” he trailed off into a dramatic high-pitched whine. 

Crowley had never been too picky about his houseplants, but one night after trying every cocktail on the menu with Aziraphale, he’d come home and realized it had been too long since he’d done an evil deed, any evil deed. No one in management would likely be checking in, but best not to push it. He’d started mucking with the internet, shutting down global banking systems and air traffic controls, and decided to do a bit of shopping while he was at it. 

Crowley saw the most incredible plant, more beguiling than the giant pitcher plant that lived in the bathroom, and he immediately had to have it. ‘What sort of demon would I be if I don’t give in to temptation?’ he’d justified to himself while tapping a stolen credit card aimlessly against his laptop. He (well, someone) had paid a hefty amount for express shipping and duties all the way from America. This orchid was so special, it had its own name; it was called “Black Magic,” quite the odd specimen! A Catasetum type orchid, it was an unappealing mass of cone-shaped green blobs when not in bloom. But once it started to bloom? It was remarkable. About once a year, a flower spike shot out from the base of the orchid like an alien emerging from its host. As the buds filled in, the slender spike began to curve gracefully over the edge of the pot, reminding Crowley of his early serpentine adventures on Earth. Inky black flowers that smelled of clove, carnation, smoke, and musk hung downwards in shapes that resembled scythes or the glossy bodies of giant hornets. He had successfully tempted Aziraphale to stop over once when it was in bloom. (Okay, it was an extremely mild temptation, but a temptation nonetheless.)

He was replaying the scene in his mind now, the angel, his beautiful angel, head cocked slightly to the right, examining the positively wicked black flowers cascading down at eye level from a pot labeled “Black Magic.” Aziraphale’s soft white curls and slight halo lit the bulb, leaves, and flower spike from behind, creating a breathtaking chiaroscuro Crowley would never be able to forget. He kept his sunglasses on, keeping his eyes locked on the scene, but tilting his head slightly away so his Angel wouldn’t catch him staring. Oh, Crowley would always remember the feeling that rose up in the center of his chest... 

“Is this... creation... one of yours?” Aziraphale had asked, with equal measures of reverence and revulsion in his voice. 

“I’m not sure, Angel,” Crowley said. “Isn’t it spectacular?” 

Aziraphale’s eyes remained wide as he carefully moved closer to the arc of the flower spray. He stared directly at Crowley as he brought his nose to the outermost bloom and sniffed delicately. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed, a slight flush forming on his round cheeks. That always happened when he was excited. Crowley lived for it. 

“I hadn’t expected that! It smells like...” he breathed in “like carnations!”

“And cloves,” Crowley stepped closer to Aziraphale and inhaled the fragrance from the other side of the flower spike.

“And... something sort of musky,” the angel continued. 

“I smell a bit of smoke too, yeah,” Crowley added.  
Their faces were mere inches away as angel and demon enjoyed the peculiar fragrance of an alien, yet entirely earthly delight. Crowley was never more grateful for sunglasses to hide the emotion in his eyes, and large pockets on tight pants in which to stuff his trembling hands. 

After a few moments, Aziraphale gently cleared his throat and pursed his lips. “Well, this is simply delightful, Crowley, thank you for sharing it with me.”  
“Of course, who else would I share it with?” Crowley said. 

Shit! He was doing it again, coming on too strong for his delicate, perfect, lovely Angel. Crowley coughed and continued before Aziraphale could say anything. 

“I mean, you know. We’re here, just sort of stuck here, doing our jobs, keeping our ‘Arrangement,’” Crowley swooped his fingers up into dramatic air quotes, “got to take some time every now and again to appreciate the uh, earthly oddities and wonders, you know?”

Aziraphale’s mouth turned up into a demure smile. 

“Absolutely.”

Crowley remained quiet for a beat. 

“Could I give you a ride home, Angel? Getting a bit late.”

He suspected Aziraphale would refuse, as he usually did, but Crowley always asked on the one-in-ten chance that his Angel would agree to a ride. It was all worth it for the occasions when he’d get to open the door for Aziraphale as he had done over the years in carriages and buggies and trains. Driving offered some unique advantages, though. While behind the wheel of the Bentley, Crowley could keep his eyes on the road while fantasizing about someday having the courage to reach across the seat and place his slender fingers over Aziraphale’s and stroke the back of his Angel’s hand with his thumb. Just once. Okay, maybe a few times. Nothing too intense. Probably at a traffic light, as he’d seen in several hackneyed movies. (Look, he’d been here for a long time, he had to get to know certain human customs, okaaaaaaaaay?)

“Oh it’s quite all right, my dear, I’ll just fly,” Aziraphale said, absentmindedly running his hands down the front of his vest. 

“Right,” Crowley forced out a laugh. “Supernatural beings! Perks! Can’t let them go unused,” he snapped the words out of his mouth while making awkward finger gun shapes with his hands. 

“But tomorrow’s Wednesday,” Aziraphale said, “so you can give me a ride home from dinner.”

“It’s a date,” Crowley dropped his right leg behind him in an exaggerated curtsy. “Until tomorrow!”

Aziraphale giggled and disappeared in a flash of bluish white light. 

When the heavenly light and the unmistakable (also heavenly) scent of his Angel had dissipated, Crowley had never felt so alone in his flat. 

The memory of the loneliness he’d felt that night after Aziraphale had departed was what eventually returned him to the present. He heaved a dramatic sigh and put a hand on his bony hip. Crowley stared into the lumpy green bulbs of the Black Magic orchid and saw the telltale beginning of a new bulb and leaf at the base, about the size of a pinky fingertip. 

“Well, would you look at that! Looks like it’s springtime for ol’ Black Magic here. Guess it’s time to start the raaaaaaaaaaaains,” Crowley drawled in a scratchy baritone as he soaked the base of the orchid with repeated stabby sprays from the trusty green bottle. Then he began to address the orchid. 

“How do I say it? What do I say to him? ‘Hi, it’s me, you know, your old pal Crowley? I’m uh... an unemployed demon, an idiot, and a coward, oh, and by the way, I’m mad about you, been completely gone on you for at least five thousand of the past six thousand years... the single worst moment of my entire existence was only a few days ago, when I thought you were gone from me forever, so now it’s down to this. I’ve come here to beg, please, Aziraphale, may I, please, let me kiss you on your gorgeous lips so I can show you more of what I mean, when I say I truly love you, my Angel?’” 

Suddenly, a spike shot out from the “Black Magic.” Crowley’s mouth fell open as he watched the green flower spike snake downwards, the buds filling in rapidly and eventually into fully formed flowers within a matter of moments. The black orchids burst open into flower and the room was once again filled with the familiar scents of carnation and clove, smoke and musk. Crowley leaned in to get a closer look. 

When viewed from the side, each flower had bloomed in a different shape this time. Each flower on the spike formed a perfect black heart, as dark as the depths of night... or the internal landscape of a slightly soft demon who just so happened to be deeply in love with a very special angel. 

“Well, I’ll be Damned,” Crowley muttered. 

“Guess it’s my lucky day. Not gonna get clearer than that, I suppose. I’m going now!” He slammed his fist on the counter. “Wasted enough time already.” 

Crowley snapped his fingers to conjure up one of his sharpest modern looks, a black formal jacket over a black button down, with skinny fit black dress pants, and shiny black Chelsea boots. The finishing touch? A slender mod-style black silk tie with a single Monstera leaf at the bottom. He went to the mirror, smoothed his hair, and willed his heart to stop pounding so bloody hard against his ribs. Now or never. He strode quickly towards the door. 

“And you lot, behave!” Crowley sternly addressed the plants as he flounced out of the flat. ‘Can’t be too soft on them all,’ he thought as he bounded down the stairs two at a time. 

All the plants except one heaved a sigh of relief the moment they felt the vibrations from Crowley’s dramatic door-slamming exit. Alas, the poor fearful African violet wasn’t able to stop shaking until it could no longer hear the sounds of the Bentley’s engine racing down the streets of Mayfair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the people have spoken, here is what happened after Crowley went to the bookstore. I hope I did the story justice. thank you so much to everyone for reading and commenting and leaving kudos, I appreciate it and I will keep writing the stories of my OTP <3

Crowley drove through the streets of London at breakneck speed. And if there were a few minor demonic interventions along the way to keep traffic flowing smoothly and pedestrians out of the street, well, no one needed to know about it, did they? The Bentley screeched into its usual “parking spot,” half on the sidewalk, half off, and Crowley leapt out of the car and up the steps into the bookshop. He crashed into one of the front doors, which was inexplicably locked at this hour of day. ‘Should have just snapped my fingers,’ he thought as he stumbled inside.

“Angel?” he called out.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale (perfect, beaming) emerged from behind a bookshelf. “What a lovely surprise. I just tried to call you-”

Crowley’s heart was beating so loudly, he was sure Aziraphale could hear it from across the room. He walked briskly across the shop floor.

“Angel, I gotta talk to you,” he said. Then his vision went black around the edges. As Crowley felt his legs give out and his body drop down to the floor, his last coherent thought was ‘For fuck’s sake, at least let me do this with style...’

———————————

Crowley felt something warm against the side of his face and stirred. His eyes fluttered open and his vision came into focus. He was lying on the couch and Aziraphale’s face was a few inches away from his. The angel's eyebrows were knitted together and he was fidgeting with his hands. Crowley quickly sat up and rubbed his forehead.

“Crowley, what in the heavens is going on?! You gave me such a fright!”

He let out a loud groan. What the...

“Arghhhh, what the fuck happened? What hit me in the head?”

“You were out cold! You burst through the door like the place was on fire and insisted you had to talk to me…” Aziraphale trailed off and ended the sentence with a barely audible “oh.”

Crowley grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. Great, now he’d gone and fucked this up too. He’d passed out, really? Passed out? He was now the (unemployed) demon who passed out as he was in the midst of a grand romantic gesture directed at the angel with whom he was hopelessly in love. Someone sign the television rights for this. Good thing he’d already “negotiated” the conditions of his termination or else they would really have something in store for him over this…

“I’ve gone soft,” Crowley muttered under his breath. Aziraphale didn’t seem to hear that.

“That’s what all this is about, isn’t it,” Aziraphale said. “When the bookshop burned down. You came in here when the place was on fire and... you must have been so worried. That’s why you’ve been acting so strangely these past few weeks.” The angel plopped down next to him on the couch.

Oh shit. So Aziraphale had noticed he’d been acting oddly? And hadn’t said anything until now? How was this going to go? Crowley prepared himself for the possible outcomes as he straightened out his tie.

‘Crowley, I appreciate the sentiment but I simply don’t share such feelings..’’  
‘Crowley, while I’m flattered, I think it might be best to keep things as they have been…’

The voice of the real Aziraphale snapped him out of it. “Crowley, did you hear me?”

“Acting strangely? How so?” Crowley asked. He could play dumb when he wanted; it was one of his most useful demonic skills. He had no intention of giving that up despite being officially unemployed.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began in that know-it-all tone that always caught him right in the chest. “You’ve been stopping by the shop at all hours and times of day. And if you don’t stop by, then you call. I’m so sorry. I should have seen it sooner.”

“Seen what sooner?”

“You thought I was… gone. Forever. And it must have been awful for you. I’m so sorry, Crowley. If I had been able to call, I would have, it’s just that it all happened before I even realized – I was in the portal, and then it was too late-”

“I know, Angel. I know,” Crowley waved his hand.

He opened his mouth to continue but... Oh no. There it was. The look.

Aziraphale was gazing (gazing? really?!) at him with the edges of his lips curved up in an adorable smile. This was the look that Aziraphale only gave Crowley when he felt Crowley was being “nice,” or at times “kind,” or other such sentimental rubbish. Sentimental rubbish of the type that Crowley liked, thank you very much.

“Ahh. It's also about something else, isn't it?” Crowley could see the gears turning in Aziraphale's head. Time to get this thing back on the tracks.

“Angel. I, uh... I had a whole thing sort of prepared-”

“Prepared?”

“I said ‘sort of’!” Crowley adjusted his shades.

“Anyhow, now I’ve gone and cocked it up by attempting to do my own stunts on the floor here. This really wasn’t how I had planned it.”

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed and he looked Crowley up and down. Oh no. He's noticed the clothes.

“You look sharp today. Never seen this before,” Aziraphale said softly as he reached out and ran his finger over the embroidered Monstera leaf on the bottom of the tie. Crowley sucked in a sharp breath and willed himself to stay calm.

Crowley slowly turned to face Aziraphale, but couldn't find the courage to look into those eyes.

“Can I just start this whole thing over, Angel? Can I try it again?” There was a beat of silence and Crowley realized Aziraphale was staring at his hands, which were now shaking. Great.

“Crowley. Your hands are trembling,” Aziraphale's voice was calm.

“...Yes... it, yes. It does appear that way.”

Aziraphale cocked his head slightly to the side and folded his arms.

“Your hands only tremble when-”

“Ah, ah, ah-” a panicked Crowley cut him off. “Let me start this over. I'll explain.”

“Start it over?”

“I had hoped to, uhm, say what I needed to say before you beat me to it.”

“On one condition.”

“What?”

“We go out to eat afterwards.” Well, it was a good sign Aziraphale anticipated wanting to continue to dine with him after said discussion.

“Anything you want.”

Crowley smiled. He could be a suave demon when he wanted to be. Just needed to conjure up some more of that energy. He stood up and walked towards the door.

“Oh, so now you’re leaving?” Aziraphale called out haughtily. Oh devils’ feet, how Crowley loved when Aziraphale got all huffy and demanding. Pushed his right buttons, it did. He exhaled slowly and turned around. Was Aziraphale smirking at him?

“I’m not going anywhere, Angel, I’m just gonna step outside and do this the way I wanted to the first time.”  
————————————————————————  
Once outside, Crowley adjusted his tie and smoothed his hands over his trousers. He took a deep breath, holding it in for a few seconds and then slowly letting all the air out of his lungs. Then he began to give himself a pep talk. ‘Okay, remember that time you busted into the prison at the Bastille to save your Angel. That’s the energy we’re calling on here. Remember when you stopped time long enough to come up with a plan to avert the apocalypse. Okay. So that feeling. Take that same energy back in there.’ He shook out his legs and cracked his neck. Now or never.

Crowley gave it his best strut as he slinked up the stairs.

“Angel? You in here?” Crowley called out.

“Crowley! What a lovely surprise. I just tried to call you,” Aziraphale responded with the exact words as before, but with a touch of sass underneath. Crowley snorted out a laugh.

“I gotta talk to you,” he said, sashaying over to Aziraphale.

“You look wonderful, Crowley.”

Crowley paused and pursed his lips. Aziraphale knew, and he knew that Crowley knew that he knew.

“You like it, Angel? Just conjured it up before I headed over.”

Aziraphale dragged his eyes up and down Crowley’s entire body. “I love it.”

Crowley felt his cheeks go hot. He hadn’t expected Aziraphale to respond with blatant flirtation before he even got to the 'love confession' part. He drew in a shaky breath.

“Well, I’m glad. So there’s something I gotta tell you, Angel.”

“Is there?” Aziraphale crossed his legs.

‘Fuck me,’ Crowley thought. All right. Time to call up that big demon energy. He approached the couch and sat down next to Aziraphale.

“I came here because of this,” he pulled his phone from his pocket and pulled up the calendar event he'd set just after the apocalypse that wasn't. (Three weeks, six days, one and a half hours ago) Crowley turned the screen for Aziraphale to see the simple description: “Talk to Angel.” Aziraphale's eyes went wide.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley's voice started off as a croak. “You are my best friend, and I'm almost certain you've known this for a very long time, but I'm absolutely, completely gone on you, have spent most of my existence feeling this for you, Angel. We're eternal beings, right? I always assumed there'd be time for things to,” he waved his hand around. “I'd never thought there might not be more time, and then... it was too late.” Crowley felt something on his face and went to brush it off. Was he... yes. Great. He was crying for the first time in a hundred and fifty-seven years. He took off his sunglasses and set them on the table.

“I looked over at you afterwards, and the sky was all pink, and you were just so lovely. And I felt so fucking lucky. It really could have all gone to shit. So I... I told myself if everything was still here in a few weeks, if we escaped our people, if somehow it all turned out, that I'd finally tell you, even though I'm pretty sure you've known the whole time.”

For fuck's sake. Now he was just blabbering. Might as well go for the gold.

Crowley moved to his knees in front of the angel, his Angel, and reached for Aziraphale's hand. “May I?” he asked.

Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley delicately took the angel's hand between his... Blast it, his hands were still shaking, but not as badly as before.

“As you know, I'm now, uh, unemployed, so-”

Aziraphale cracked up into giggles.

“Hey!” Crowley hissed and swatted the angel gently on the arm. “Let me finish.”

“Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale was now... batting his eyelashes at him? Bloody hell, he had a few moments left before he lost it completely. Crowley cleared his throat and began again.

“As I was about to say, I'm unemployed and likely to remain that way for, well... permanently. I was hoping you might want to find some ways to pass the time,” his voice cracked on the last word. Crowley took yet another deep breath.

“with me. Together. I want to spend the rest of eternity with you, making you smile, doing whatever you want to do, anything you’d like, Angel, really, anything at all.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said tenderly. The angel reached out and touched Crowley's cheek, and really, he thought he might just combust on the spot. He let out a long breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Aziraphale leaned down and nuzzled his nose against Crowley's forehead.

“An eternity without you is not anything I ever wish to experience,” Aziraphale said. “Surely, my dear, you must know how I adore you. I have for quite some time.” He looked away and then back in that shy, longing way Crowley had seen more than once over the millennia.

“I do now.” Crowley pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to the back of the angel's hand.

“Now get up off the floor. It's not good for the knees of the corporeal body.” Aziraphale gestured for Crowley to sit next to him.

“And it makes this much easier.” He gathered Crowley in his arms and started gently rubbing small circles on his back.

Crowley sank into Aziraphale's shoulder and let out a sound that could charitably be described as a whimper. After a few moments, he lifted his head and pressed his cheek to Aziraphale's.

“At times, I've been told I go too fast,” Crowley whispered. He closed his eyes and breathed in the warmth of Aziraphale's face next to his. “So you-” he gently touched the tip of Aziraphale's nose with his fingertip “can be the one to set the pace. However slow you want it to be. We have all the time in the world.” The angel shifted slightly on the sofa and stared directly into Crowley's eyes.

“Have you ever...?” Aziraphale asked.

“Ever what?”

“You know. Have you ever,” the angel dished out an exaggerated wink.

“Pfffft” Crowley made a face like he'd just eaten a lemon and leaned away. “You really gonna talk about it all like that? Is that what we're doing now?”

“Ah, changed your mind about eternity already?” Now Aziraphale was grinning. Crowley had not anticipated his Angel to be quite so playful during such a conversation. He fucking loved it.

“You're insufferable, you know that?”

“Answer the question!” Aziraphale poked a finger into Crowley's side.

“Stop that! And no, I haven't ever 'have you evered,'” Crowley made exaggerated air quotes with his fingers and rolled his eyes. “If you'll recall, someone told me I moved too fast for them.”

“You've really never-”

“No, I really never have. No sense in bothering if not with you.”

Aziraphale's face lit up. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course I really mean it. Did you forget that I passed out earlier from all the-”

“All the emotion? All the feeeeeeeeeeeelings?” Aziraphale sidled up to him.

“What on earth am I going to do with you?”

“Well, you just said you'd do whatever I wanted.” Wow. How long had he been wrapped around his Angel's little finger? Crowley laughed and shook his head.

“Heaven help me, I did. You hungry?”

“I'm always a bit peckish.”

“Get your things then, love, and we'll go. Wherever you want to go.”

Aziraphale turned to face him. “Love?”

“Yes, love. You. Ridiculous creature that you are, you are my love. But if you don't like it-”

“I didn't say that,” Aziraphale tapped Crowley on the knee and headed towards the back room.

“Be ready in a moment.”

Crowley stood and walked to the middle of the shop and waited for Aziraphale to gather his things (or whatever) before they left for dinner. It was always like this; when Aziraphale said he'd be ready to go in a few minutes, that usually meant twenty, and if he said he needed “a half hour,” he meant “an hour and a half,” but it didn't matter, because this was his Angel. He felt a rising pool of warmth in the center of his chest and thought of all the breakfasts, brunches, lunches, teas, and dinners he and Aziraphale would get to experience in the future for which they'd fought so hard. This 'lovesick' thing wasn't actually so bad...

His brief reverie was interrupted by the sound of familiar footsteps. But Aziraphale didn't have his hat, or his-

“Where's your coat?”

“Anything I’d like, you said?” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

“Hmm?”

“Earlier. You said, anything I'd like?”

“Yes, Angel, always. Anything at all,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale let out a small breath. “Right, then.”

Before Crowley could even blink, Aziraphale grabbed him by the lapels and shoved his back up against one of the columns in the center of the bookshop. The tips of their noses brushed and Crowley gasped. He didn't think that move would ever be used against him... by an angel... his Angel...

“Zira-” he stammered as he felt his knees start to give way.

“I'm going to trust you mean that, my dear, because there are a lot of things I want,” Aziraphale said before taking his mouth in a kiss that contained far more heat than Crowley expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please bother me on twitter @orchidlocked

**Author's Note:**

> oooooooook it’s my very first fic ever, any comments welcome, hope I did the characters justice, wrote this so I could stop screaming about how much I ship this at every moment 
> 
> the orchid mentioned in the story is based off a real black orchid called (I shit you not) the “millennium magic witchcraft,” look it up. :-)


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